


Sam Wilson and the Crisis of the People

by this_wayward_life



Series: Conundrum [3]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Decisions, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual T'Challa (Marvel), Break Up, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gay Sam Wilson, Getting Back Together, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Martial Arts, Okoye (Marvel) Is A Good Bro, Protective T'Challa (Marvel), Religion, Sam Wilson Feels, Sam Wilson-centric, Sweet T'Challa (Marvel), T'Challa (Marvel) Feels, Temporary Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_wayward_life/pseuds/this_wayward_life
Summary: Sam Wilson was thirteen years old (fourteen in September) and very much straight, thank you very much. He knew that being gay wasn't bad, no matter what his mother told him - Bucky was gay, and that was totally fine because Bucky was his best friend - but he wasn't gay. He was just a straight ally, like Clint. Sam knew that Clint was straight because he had the hots for that new girl that had come at the start of the year - Natasha, he remembered her name was.But yeah. Sam was straight.And that was the mantra that he'd started up in his head as soon as he noticed the new boy in his Monday class at his dojo.------A study of Sam Wilson, from the ages of thirteen to seventeen.Both a prequel and an alternate perspective of the events in Conundrum.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, T'Challa/Sam Wilson (Marvel)
Series: Conundrum [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1395079
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	Sam Wilson and the Crisis of the People

**Author's Note:**

> fUCK this has been in my drafts for months

Sam Wilson was thirteen years old (fourteen in September) and very much straight, thank you very much. He knew that being gay wasn't bad, no matter what his mother told him - Bucky was gay, and that was totally fine because Bucky was his best friend - but he wasn't gay. He was just a straight ally, like Clint. Sam knew that Clint was straight because he had the hots for that new girl that had come at the start of the year - Natasha, he remembered her name was. 

But yeah. Sam was straight.

And that was the mantra that he'd started up in his head as soon as he noticed the new boy in his Monday class at his dojo. Who was also in his Wednesday class. And his Maths class at school. 

Sam knew the guy, of course. Brooklyn Secondary wasn't particularly big compared to schools around it, and there were only about a hundred kids in their year level. And T'Challa was one of them.

He wasn't part of Rumlow's group, at the top of the food chain. He wasn't in with the band geeks, chess club members, gamers, jocks, or any of the other groups. He was a bit of a recluse, in fact, but Sam knew that he was charming and kind to people who talked to him. Not because Sam actively sought him out, of course. It was because Sam was a naturally observative person. There were only three people who Sam saw T'Challa with - two girls in their year level called Nakia and Okoye, and his younger sister, Shuri, who was in the year below. 

So maybe it was a bit of a surprise that T'Challa was in his martial arts class. Two of his classes, in fact.

And it was even more surprising when Sensei Cho partnered them up.

"T'Challa is new, Samuel. I want you to make him feel comfortable here," she'd said, giving that stern look of hers. Even though he had grown just a bit taller than her over the holidays, she was still scary, so Sam had agreed.

T'Challa was tall and slim, taller than Sam but not as large. He looked as if he hadn't started properly growing yet, and Sam was already bulking up, enough so that people thought he was older than he actually was. T'Challa's eyes were very dark and large, and he had the poutiest lips Sam had ever seen, and he knew Bucky Barnes. 

"Your name is Sam?" T'Challa asked, his words laced with an exotic-sounding accent.

"Yep," Sam said, crossing his arms. "And you're T'Challa?"

T'Challa smiled. "Yes. I believe we go to the same school."

"Yeah, we do," Sam said, nodding. "Just wondering, where are you from? You don't sound like you're from around here."

T'Challa's smile turned wry. "No, I am not. My family is originally from Wakanda. We moved to Brooklyn a few years ago."

"Where's Wakanda?" Sam asked curiously.

"Africa. Next to Nigeria."

Before Sam could ask any more questions, Sensei Cho called for their attention, and the class started.

\-----

Sam Wilson was fourteen years old, and he had just come out to Bucky Barnes as gay. As he said it, his hands shook and tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but Bucky just hugged him and told him he was proud. 

"Hey, whenever Clint talks about pretty girls, I won't be the only one to not know what he's talking about when he calls boobs hot," Bucky had joked, and Sam had pretty much forgotten his fear in favour of laughing so hard he started choking. 

"So what brought you to tell me?" Bucky asked later, when they were sitting in the park. Becca had gone off to find her friends as soon as they'd left Bucky's house, and Sam was pretty sure she could handle herself. Pretty sure. "I mean, I'm honoured and stuff that I'm the first person you told, but why exactly did you do it?"

"Because I know you won't treat me any differently for it," Sam replied. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"I mean, why are you coming out now? Is it just because you wanted to tell someone, or you were ready, or what?"

Sam definitely did not blush. He was not a twelve-year-old girl. "I may be attracted to someone. Romantically."

"You have a crush?"

"Jesus, don't call it a crush. That makes it sound so pathetic," Sam whined, and Bucky snickered. "He's just a guy from my martial arts, okay?"

"Is he cute?" Bucky asked, and yeah, okay, Sam definitely blushed that time.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's really cute," Sam mumbled. Bucky nudged him with his shoulder.

"Are you going to do anything about it?"

"What would I do about it? I can't just go up to him and tell him how I feel."

"Why not?" Bucky asked curiously.

Sam sighed. Sometimes he wished he was more like Bucky. Bucky, who was willowy and handsome, with short fluffy hair and soulful grey eyes that made girls go crazy. Bucky, who was the most confident person Sam knew, excluding Natasha, who was too scary, and Clint, who was just an idiot. Bucky, who, even though his father was a mean drunk, managed to keep his little sister out of harm's way, and managed to pass as straight almost effortlessly. 

"Because I'm not like you, Jamie. I can't just tell people how I feel," Sam mumbled, looking down at his hands. Sam was a pretty big guy for his age - tall, with broad shoulders and thick muscles - but he still felt like a small child. Even though he pretty much dwarfed his friend.

"Sam," Bucky's voice was gentle as he placed his left hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's alright if you can't tell him how you feel. And it wouldn't be too pathetic to see you pine - nothing compared to Clint."

At that, Sam had to laugh. Clint basically followed Natasha around like a lost puppy. "At least I won't be that bad."

"That's the spirit," Bucky said, clapping Sam on the back before standing up. "Come on, I want ice cream. And maybe you can tell me more about this mystery guy?"

Sam sighed as they started walking. "Fine. He's tall and slim, and he somehow is the least awkward person I've ever seen. He moves like a dancer, man - it's so cool. And his skin is almost as dark as mine, and his eyes are really big and expressive, like some kind of old painting. And his lips are amazing - really puffy, with this little curve that is just the cutest thing I've ever seen. And he has a little sister who he loves, and he'll do literally anything for her. And his technique when it comes to kicks is so fluid I was shocked when he told me he'd never had martial arts training before. And god, Bucky, you should see him when he smiles, it's like the sun just showed itself for the first time in years." He stopped when he saw the grin on Bucky's face. "What?"

"You sure it's just a crush?" he asked teasingly. "Because you're talking about this guy like he's the star you're orbiting around."

"Don't give me astrology metaphors, you nerd," Sam muttered, feeling his face redden. But he didn't answer the question, and Bucky's grin just widened.

\-------

Sam Wilson was fifteen years old, and his best friend was dying.

It was an ordinary Saturday night, at around eight. He was sitting with a book on the couch, his younger siblings Eli, Cassie, and Caleb playing some sort of make-believe game at his feet, while his mother did the dishes and his father watched the news. Sam's mind was elsewhere, thinking of the maths test that was on Tuesday and the guy he accidentally kicked in the face in martial arts who harboured a personal vendetta against him. Which is why he didn't notice what was happening on the TV until his father sucked in a breath quickly. Considering his father never showed emotion ever, Sam looked up to see what all the fuss was about.

The female reporter was speaking very quickly and running her free hand through her blonde hair. She looked distraught. It was apparently live, and Sam could hear sirens in the background. The caption underneath spelled in large letters, Drunk Father crashes car, son in critical condition.

"The young boy has been removed from the scene as quickly as possible," the reporter was saying. "Bystanders managed to drag both bodies out of the car before it caught ablaze, and while the father seems relatively unharmed, a piece of metal sawed through the boy's upper arm and has left it half hanging off. Officials have found ID on both persons, identifying them as ex-marine George Barnes and his son, James Buchanan Barnes."

The book dropped from Sam's hands as he jumped off the couch and raced to the bathroom, barely getting there in time to retch over the toilet bowl. His hands shook where they held onto the porcelain, and the vomit left a bitter taste in his mouth as he puked until there was nothing left in his stomach, and he was just dry retching. Tears streamed down his face, choked sobs coming out occasionally through the haze. His head throbbed. His knees were cold from their place on the tiles. He could feel his mother's hand on his back, rubbing softly.

"I always knew about that boy's family," his mother was saying, and he could picture her shaking her head in disapproval. "Didn't I, Paul? I told you that man was not fit to raise a child."

"Yes you did, darling," Sam's father replied, sounding shell-shocked.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," his mother said then, and from the gentler tone of her voice, Sam knew that she was talking to him. "We will keep James in our prayers."

Sam felt another wave of nausea hit him, and he dry retched into the toilet.

\------

It was Monday night, and Sam had just come back from the hospital in time for his martial arts class. Bucky had gone into emergency surgery on Saturday night as soon as he'd gotten to the hospital, and he was still high enough on pain medication to only garble out words. His left arm was reduced to a bandaged stump. Just looking at it made Sam feel sick.

Sensei Cho had turned a blind eye when Sam opted out of the group activities to go and practise on his own, and Sam had ignored T'Challa and Maria's worried glances and attempts to catch his eye.

So there Sam was, suspended ten feet off the ground with his legs wrapped around the climbing rope and his arms hanging freely as he did crunches. It wasn't exactly a traditional style of martial art, but Director Fury always said that it was good to have the stamina, flexibility and strength of a gymnast. Sam was so concentrated on keeping a tight grip on the rope that he didn't hear T'Challa approaching until he was directly underneath Sam. 

"Are you alright?" 

Sam looked down and slid down the rope until he could stand in front of his friend. T'Challa had his arms crossed, a thin sheen of sweat over his body that Sam resolutely ignored. T'Challa's eyebrows were pinched in concern as he looked Sam up and down.

"Not as bad as I thought I'd be," Sam admitted.

"I heard about Barnes. I'm sorry."

"He'll get better."

T'Challa's mouth turned down. "Sam, you don't have to carry this alone," he said gently. Sam sighed, and fell into step beside him, bumping their shoulders together.

"I know, man. Thanks for having my back."

T'Challa smiled, but his eyes were still full of worry. "Of course."

"Now come on - I'm hungry, and I know how much you crave those stupidly expensive power smoothies after a workout," Sam said, and T'Challa barked out a laugh.

"At least they're healthy," he shot back. "You seem to want to eat nothing but buffalo wings."

"They're healthy!" Sam protested. 

"In what way?"

"In... In several ways!" 

T'Challa laughed again, and slung his arm over Sam's shoulder. "How about you buy me my smoothie, and try to keep convincing me?"

"Why don't you pay for it?"

"I'll pay for yours," T'Challa offered.

"That's ridiculous, why wouldn't we just pay for our own?"

"Then you can pay for both of them."

And as they bickered back and forth, Sam felt the overwhelming worry for Bucky slowly fade away.

\----

Sam Wilson was sixteen years old, and he had just had sex with one of his best friends.

It was about a week after both the worst and best day of Sam's life. He'd gone through his dan black belt exam - or, in a better way of putting it, he'd had the shit beaten out of him for six hours straight. Bucky, who was still recovering from the car crash the year before, had sat and watched the entire time, holding back Natasha when she tried to attack the instructors and calming down Clint so that he wouldn't be kicked out. He still got kicked out, but that was beside the point. 

In the end, it was worth it, because Sam passed, and nothing compared to the grin on T'Challa's face as he watched from the sidelines.

"So now that it's official that I'm better than you, are you gonna pay for the drinks?" Sam had asked, and T'Challa had snorted.

"In your dreams, birdbrain."

So, it was a week after the grading, and Sam and T'Challa were hanging out. Which, by their definition, meant beating the shit out of each other in the name of practice, and then holding icepacks to each other's faces and mocking the other's technique. It was one of the highlights of Sam's week.

It was Saturday evening - it was strange, all of the significant events in Sam's life seemed to happen on Saturday evenings - and what had started out as perfecting the technique on Sam's hand-to-hand had ended up as a full-on brawl. 

"You are a complete cheater," T'Challa wheezed through his laughter, and Sam just dug his fingers deeper into T'Challa's sides, earning another shriek of laughter. 

"It never said that tickling is against the rules in the handbook they gave us," Sam said innocently.

"There was no handbook, you absolute -" T'Challa's words were cut off with another shriek of laughter. And it was so entertaining that Sam let his guard down, just for a second. But that was all T'Challa needed to hook his ankles behind Sam's knees and flip them, pinning Sam's hands down above his head as he straddled him.

"Who's got the upper hand now?" T'Challa asked smugly, making absolutely no effort to move. Sam huffed, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks at having T'Challa literally on top of him.

"This is definitely cheating," Sam complained. T'Challa just laughed.

"If you think this is cheating, you haven't seen anything yet."

Sam raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Then how about you show me just how bad you can get, huh?"

And he'd definitely not meant for that to come out sounding so sexual, but the mood had definitely changed from playful to something a lot more intense, and T'Challa didn't seem to mind, by the way his eyes darkened. So, throwing caution to the wind, Sam yanked his hands out of T'Challa's grip and wrapped his arms around T'Challa's body, pulling him down and smashing their lips together. 

And that was definitely a good decision to make, because the feeling of kissing T'Challa was so intense that Sam was drunk from it. And when T'Challa's perfectly shaped lips started moving against his own, and his hands came up to cup at Sam's face, Sam couldn't stop the moan that made its way past his lips. T'Challa's hands slid down Sam's body, his fingers playing with the hem of Sam's shirt.

"Can I?" T'Challa whispered, tugging on the shirt slightly.

"God, yes," Sam gasped out, pulling T'Challa back into another searing kiss. T'Challa moaned softly, and yanked Sam's shirt up over his shoulders and over his head, barely breaking the kiss as he did so. The way in which he did it made Sam wonder if he'd done it before, but he quickly pushed that thought down. T'Challa pulled away for a second, and Sam would have complained if T'Challa hadn't pulled off his own shirt, exposing his slim body, corded muscles rippling under the skin. 

Sam deftly flipped them over, and the breath left T'Challa's body in a huff as his back hit the ground. Sam barely gave him a chance to recover before he was moving his lips down the lines of T'Challa's neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to everywhere he could reach. T'Challa's hands were suddenly at his belt, pulling it out of the loops and undoing Sam's fly. His slim fingers grasped at Sam's cock through his boxers, and Sam let out a strangled gasp that had T'Challa laughing.

"You're such a dick," Sam mumbled, undoing T'Challa's pants as his own were slid down his legs.

"You and I both know you love that about me," T'Challa purred, grinding his hips up into Sam's.

"I think I like you better when you can't talk," Sam muttered, and captured T'Challa's lips in another kiss. T'Challa wrapped his arms loosely around Sam's waist, leisurely rolling his hips into Sam's in a way that showed that just because Sam was on top didn't mean he was the one in charge.

The friction between their naked bodies was intoxicating and completely overwhelming, but it felt so incredible that Sam grabbed T'Challa's thigh and hoisted his leg up to hook around Sam's waist. At the new position, T'Challa threw his head back in ecstasy, the tendons in his neck jutting out and beating in time with his pulse. Sam couldn't help but lean down and bite at them gently as they rocked together, and T'Challa came with a shout that Sam quickly muffled by kissing him again.

Sam slowed down as T'Challa came down from his orgasm, despite his libido's protests. When he'd come back to himself, T'Challa wrapped his hand around Sam's dick, and it took an embarrassingly few amount of strokes for Sam to come, burying his face in T'Challa's shoulder as he rode out the waves. T'Challa's fingers ran through his hair, and it was so comfortable that Sam would have probably been happy to stay there forever.

"Okay, get off," T'Challa finally said, tapping Sam's shoulder. Sam lifted his head and pouted.

"Why?"

"Because we're sticky and gross and you're heavy," T'Challa retorted. Grumbling quietly, Sam rolled off and got to his feet, grimacing at the mess on his stomach.

"Okay, you were right about the mess," he said reluctantly. 

"I'm always right," T'Challa replied and kissed Sam softly. 

They cleaned up using tissues from T'Challa's bedside table and then curled up the bed that was much too small for the both of them. T'Challa wrapped his arms tightly around Sam's waist and snuggled into his chest, and Sam traced patterns into T'Challa's shoulder blades.

"Are we dating now?" Sam asked a while later, his voice slurred from tiredness.

"If you want us to be," came T'Challa's reply, his lips brushing against Sam's bare chest with every word.

"What about what you want?" Sam asked. T'Challa raised his head to meet Sam's eyes.

"I want it," he said plainly. "But if you don't, then that's okay, too."

"Well I want it, too," Sam said, raising his eyebrows. "So are you going to kiss me again, or do I have to bend my neck uncomfortably to do it myself?"

T'Challa's laugh was muffled by the kiss.

\------

Sam Wilson was seventeen years old (eighteen next month), and his father had just threatened to kick him out of the house.

It was a beautiful day in August, a couple of weeks before senior year was going to start. T'Challa had come over after martial arts practise, and, like most of their alone time, it had progressed from just talking and joking around to soft kisses and gentle touches. Every touch made Sam shiver as if it was that first time all over again and he hadn't been able to kiss T'Challa for the past year. When T'Challa left Sam walked him back down to the lobby of his apartment complex, and got a chaste goodbye kiss before T'Challa got into his car and drove off, with promises to meet up later in the week.

Sam walked back up to his apartment floating on air, knowing he had a dumb grin on his face and doing nothing to wipe it off. But then he saw his father sitting at the kitchen table, and his good mood disappeared.

"Dad? What's wrong?" Sam asked warily. His father's eyes were cold.

"Samuel, you believe in God, don't you?" his father said coldly. Sam repressed a sigh - of course, it was about religion. It was always about religion when it came to his parents.

"Yeah, Dad," he lied.

"And you love God?"

"Of course."

His father's eyebrows drew together in disappointment. "Then you must know that what God says will come before anything. Even my own family."

Sam felt dread wash over him, settling in a cold, heavy ball in his stomach. "What do you mean?"

"I saw what you were doing with that boy, Samuel," his father said, and Sam went cold. "You should know better."

"Dad, being gay doesn't go against God," Sam tried, knowing that he could never change his father's mind. Knew that it was futile. "And even if it did, that wasn't what T'Challa and I were doing. We're just friends."

"Then how do you explain the fact that I saw you two kissing in your room?" his father said sharply. Sam's eyes widened, and his father took a deep breath, composing himself once again. "The devil has you, Samuel. I will not tolerate a child of Satan in this house."

"Dad, what are you talking about?" Sam said, feeling panic rise up his throat like bile.

"If you don't rid yourself of the evil that has you, you cannot stay here," his father said coldly. "I will not allow Satan to get his hands on the rest of my family."

Sam felt tears burn at the edges of his eyes, but kept his mouth shut.

"Do we have a deal, Samuel?"

Sam's voice cracked when he answered. "Yes, Dad."

\-----

The next day, Sam called up his martial arts studio and cancelled his membership and the classes he'd signed up for. 

Then he texted T'Challa.

_I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. It's over._

Before he could get a response, Sam blocked T'Challa's number, deleted their conversations, and turned off his phone.

Then he curled up on his bed and cried.

\-----

Sam didn't like school. He was good at it, he knew what he was doing, but he didn't like it. He didn't like Brock Rumlow and his assholes who tried to hurt Bucky at every chance they got. He didn't like the teachers and their self-entitled attitudes. He didn't like the fact that Natasha had to keep her shoulders covered, because she was groped by a boy one time who'd claimed that she'd seduced him, and she'd been punished. He didn't like the fact that he and T'Challa weren't out, and couldn't walk down the hall holding hands.

But it turned out that the last thing was a blessing.

As soon as he'd walked through the doors on the first day of school, Bucky grumbling about something or other on his left and Clint bouncing around from a caffeine-high on his right, Sam had seen T'Challa standing with Nakia, talking in a low voice. T'Challa looked over, and his eyes widened. He took a step towards Sam. Sam grabbed Clint by the elbow and steered them away. Bucky raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Bucky was slammed into the lockers by Brock Rumlow. Sam pulled him up and brushed the glitter out of his hair.

There was a new boy who was introduced in English. Sam barely caught anything - he was too busy trying to avoid T'Challa's eye.

On his way to the computer labs after school, Sam ducked into a spare classroom when he saw T'Challa walking towards him. T'Challa had his head down, and Sam saw the glisten of tears in his eyes. Sam closed his eyes and bit his lip, willing himself not to cry.

\------

"I'm not doing martial arts anymore."

Sam avoided everyone's eyes as he set the six-pack of Coke down on the table, then sat down in his swivel chair. He could feel Bucky's gaze burning a hole through the side of his head.

"Any reason why?" Bucky asked, his tone carefully measured.

"Is it because of a guy?" Clint asked with his mouth full of Mars Bars. Sam willed himself not to cry.

"No," he managed to get out, before he bit his lip hard enough for it to start bleeding. He looked up at Bucky, who was watching him carefully, but his gaze quickly went to the guy standing in the doorway. It was the new kid - Steve, or whatever his name was. New-guy-Steve then complimented Tony's laptop wallpaper, made a sex joke, and took a Mars Bar from Clint - Sam determined that he was either really brave or an idiot. And that was before he started flirting with Bucky. It was suddenly the only good part of the day.

When Steve left, with a very charming smile towards Bucky, Sam looked over at his best friend and found, to his utter amusement, that Bucky's face was bright red.

"I'm going to drop out of school," Bucky squeaked out. Sam punched his shoulder.

It turned out that Sam wasn't out of the woods when it came to his martial arts problem. Bucky and Sam were walking home, sharing a pair of earbuds and listening to Stairway To Heaven on repeat when Bucky brought it up again.

"So what happened with martial arts?" Bucky asked, and Sam fought the urge to snort. His friend was the absolute worst when it came to subtlety, preferring the 'bull in a china shop' technique with every aspect of his life.

"Yeah," Sam said vaguely, avoiding eye contact. "Think I've had enough."

Sam could almost hear Bucky thinking. It was another block of tense silence before Bucky spoke again.

"Just had enough?"

"Yeah. Just had enough," Sam echoed. He was relieved when they parted ways.

\-----

The next morning, Steve Rogers stopped at Bucky's locker to say hello. Bucky went bright red. It made Sam feel slightly better.

That night, Sam and Clint went over to Bucky's place for pizza and movies, which was probably a bad idea, considering it was a school night.

About halfway through the second Hunger Games movie, Sam felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

_One new message from Lawful Good  
Today, 9:39pm: You wanna explain to me what's going on?_

Sam looked at his phone for a long time, not looking away even when the screen went dark. He and Okoye had become close over the past year, since she basically lived at T'Challa's place and was his best friend (minus Shuri). It made sense that she would contact him.

_TO: Lawful Good, 9:40pm: It's complicated._

_FROM: Lawful Good, 9:40 pm: Don't give me that shit. T'Challa's an absolute wreck. You'd better have a good explanation for this, Wilson, otherwise I'm going to impale you to a desk._

Sam's fingers hovered over the keyboard. _TO: Lawful Good, 9:41: You have to promise not to tell T'Challa anything._

_FROM: Lawful Good, 9:42 pm: Please don't tell me you cheated on him._

_TO: Lawful Good 9:42 pm: No! I'd never do something like that. I love him._

_FROM: Lawful Good, 9:43 pm: Then I don't understand. Why did you do it if you love him?_

Sam let the screen go black.

"I didn't know you had Okoye's number," Bucky said casually from beside him, and Sam immediately cradled his phone to his chest. From the way Bucky was acting, he hadn't seen the conversation. Thank God.

"Do you like her?" Clint asked, then frowned. "Wait, you can't, she's a chick."

Sam glared at him, daring him to finish his train of thought. Clint didn't seem to notice.

"Do you like someone she's close to?"

Sam levelled up his glare, but all Clint did was gasp, his eyes sparkling.

"Is it T'Challa?!"

Sam looked back down at his phone.

\-----

On Friday, Bucky made them eat in the cafeteria. Sam had a sneaking suspicion why, and his ideas were confirmed when Steve came over and sat with them, as if it was something he did every day, and ask to study with them. Then Clint decided that it'd be every Friday, at Bucky's house. Sam was just trying very hard not to start laughing at the look on Bucky's face.

And then Steve sat next to Bucky in History. Sam saw Clint sneakily filming their every interaction, and reminded himself to ask for the footage later, when Bucky couldn't hurt him.

\-----

Sam's last class on a Thursday was Chemistry with Doctor Selvig, a brusque but kind-hearted disgraced scientist. Usually, Sam enjoyed it because Selvig had a dry kind of humour that never failed to be amusing, but that day, Okoye sat in the vacant seat next to him that was usually taken by Gamora.

"You left me on read," she whispered. "You know you're not getting out of this conversation, Wilson. Talk to me."

"Why are you so interested in this?" Sam hissed. 

"Because T'Challa is my best friend, and I care about the both of you," Okoye replied, her voice hostile. "I know that you're just as upset as he is, but I can't help unless you tell me what's going on."

"There's nothing you can do," Sam said miserably, hanging his head. "Just... please, Okoye, not now? I promise I'll talk to you. Just not here."

Okoye's face softened, and she gripped his shoulder. She didn't say anything else. Sam gave her a weak smile as thank you.

At the end of the class, Okoye dropped a piece of paper on his desk. 

"Meet me here, Saturday," she whispered in his ear. "Bring hot chocolate."

Sam looked at the paper, and stuffed it in his pocket as he picked up his books and left the classroom, ignoring Bucky's questioning look when he reached his group of friends.

"What took you so long?" Clint asked curiously.

"Someone set themselves on fire," Sam mumbled. He actually hadn't seen, being too far in his own head, but from the smell of charred cotton and the way Peter Quill's clothes were damp and singed, he had a pretty good idea. "Only half the class did their homework. The usual."

Clint nodded, as if setting yourself on fire was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Bucky nudged Sam with his good shoulder as they started walking down the corridor. "We still on for Saturday's movie night?"

Sam winced. On the one hand, he really loved movie nights, and they always helped him relax - something he desperately needed. On the other, he had to meet Okoye on Saturday. "I don't know. Maybe."

He ignored the way Bucky and Natasha glanced at each other meaningfully, and blocked out their whispered Russian. He couldn't understand it, and there was no point in listening. Bucky turned back to look at him, and Sam braced himself for more interrogation from his best friend.

His saviour came in the form of Steve Rogers, and Bucky became so interested in Steve's tight shirt that he seemed to completely forget about talking to Sam. God bless America and Steve's perfect body.

\-----

The note told Sam to meet Okoye in Prospect Park at three on Saturday and he arrived five minutes early, Okoye's hot chocolate in his hand. It wasn't long before he saw her walking towards him, her hands in the pockets of her red coat. She sat down next to him without a word, her hand out, and Sam dutifully gave her the cup. She took a long sip and wiped her mouth, then turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised.

"What's that look for?" Sam joked weakly. Okoye's eyebrows furrowed.

"Sam."

Sam sighed and looked down, wishing he'd bought himself a drink, just to have something to hold.

"You need to promise not to tell T'Challa anything," he said quietly. "I don't want him finding out."

"But Sam-"

"Please, Okoye."

Okoye pursed her lips, but nodded. "Alright."

Sam let out a breath and looked back down. He couldn't face looking at her. "T'Challa and I were in my room. He'd come over after martial arts. My dad must have walked in at some point and saw because after T'Challa left, he told me he saw us." 

Sam closed his eyes, taking a sharp breath in. A small hand, warmed by the hot cup Okoye had placed beside her, slipped into his own and squeezed gently. Sam glanced up at her to see her eyes full of worry, and he gave her a wan smile.

"Dad told me he'd kick me out if I kept seeing T'Challa. He said it goes against God," Sam finally said, and looked away. "I know it's cowardly, but..."

"That's not cowardly," Okoye said, gentle but firm. "Sam, you were put in an impossible situation, and you were scared. You did what anyone would've done."

"But I've treated T'Challa like shit," Sam croaked. "I cut off all contact with him, and I'm refusing to talk to him. He had a right to know-"

"But do you want to tell him yet?" Okoye cut in. She sighed at Sam's bewildered look. "Honey, I have no idea how awful this must be for you. This is something you have a right to keep to yourself, and I'm sorry I pressured you into telling me. If you aren't comfortable talking to T'Challa, then don't talk to him. I'll keep him from seeking you out, if that's what you want."

Sam felt his eyes widen. "Why would you do that? He's your best friend."

"I know," Okoye said casually, and bumped Sam's shoulder with her own. "But you're my friend too. And I look after people I care about."

Sam let out a breath, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. "Thanks, Okoye."

"Come on, champ," she said, grabbing her hot chocolate and pulling him up. "I'm going to buy you one of those sugary monstrosities you consider coffee, and you're going to tell me what's going on between Barnes and Rogers."

\------

To say Sam was surprised for Steve to invite him to the beach party that Rumlow had put together was an understatement. Sure, he and Steve were friends, but they rarely hung out without other people around (read: Bucky). And Steve had gone out of his way to get Sam alone - he'd waited until Natasha was on shift and Bucky was out with Clint, and took him to grab a coffee at Sam's favourite café. Sam didn't even know that Steve _knew_ his favourite café. When Steve asked, it actually took him a couple of seconds to fully process what Steve had said. The man in question just took a sip of his latte patiently, eyes wide and innocent and far too persuasive.

"You want me to _what_?" Sam finally sputtered.

"I want you to come to the beach party on Saturday," Steve repeated. "It'll be fun. And Bucky isn't going to want to come unless you're there."

"Oh, is that how it is?" Sam asked, feigning hurt. "You're just using me to see my best friend with his shirt off?"

Steve turned bright red. "No - no, of... of course not! This wasn't about seeing - seeing Bucky without a..." Steve, somehow, went redder. Sam managed to keep control for five more seconds, before he burst out laughing and doubled over, clutching his stomach. Steve looked so mortified, and completely guilty.

"Dude, calm down. I'm just messing with you," Sam finally wheezed, wiping away a stray tear.

Steve looked a bit sheepish. "Well, you're my friend. And I might be closer to Bucky, but I still like you. You always make everything easier."

Sam couldn't help but smile. Bucky may have been under the impression that Steve Rogers was as unflappable and in control as could be, but Sam knew better. Steve was a mess. A very attractive mess, but a mess nonetheless.

"Steve, it's alright. I'll come."

Steve perked up, and he reminded Sam so much of his aunt's golden retriever puppy that he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again. "Really?"

"As long as you promise to keep T'Challa away from me if he tries to talk."

"How do you know he'll be there?"

"Because he's on the football team, Steve. The whole beach party is _for_ the football team."

"Right." Steve looked abashed. "Okay."

Sam blinked. "Really? Just like that?"

Steve frowned. "Should I have said something else?"

"No, it's not that," Sam said hastily. "It's just... you didn't ask me about T'Challa."

"Oh. Did you want me to?"

"Definitely not."

Steve smiled, albeit confusedly. "If you wanna tell me, you'll tell me. No point in asking."

Sam sighed heavily. "Man, you're a saint."

Steve grinned. "I try. Now, I gotta go - I got a hot date with my psychology homework."

\------

Accepting Steve's invitation was a terrible idea. Sam had thought that he would have been able to sit on the beach the whole time, reading his book and occasionally watching Steve and Bucky's pitiful attempts at flirting. But instead, he was in the (very cold) ocean, refusing to look back at the beach in case T'Challa was trying to get his attention.

Seeing T'Challa was like getting hit by a bus. Sam had tried so hard to ignore him, ever since August, and seeing him - with his shirt off, no less - brought back memories that were too painful to look at. He looked good - he'd filled out a bit more, and there was a shaving nick on his jawline that Sam could see even from twenty feet away. Being around T'Challa and not being able to go near him was a physical ache, one that hadn't abated in the three months they'd been apart. 

Sam shook his head, and floated on his back. It was a really warm day for November, and the air that hit his skin was hot. Sam was grateful that he'd remembered to put on sunscreen, otherwise, he'd be red as a tomato. 

Thor Odinson sidled up beside him, carrying Loki, who was hissing like an angry cat, on his back. 

"Samuel!" Thor cried out and promptly dropped Loki (causing a shriek) to scoop Sam up in a hug. "This is where you have been this whole time? Why were you not on the beach?"

"Just wanted to go for a swim," Sam wheezed out, and breathed a sigh of relief when Thor released him, rubbing his bruised ribs. "Did I miss anything interesting?"

"Ah, not much," Thor chuckled. "Natasha has a very strangely shaped scar on her stomach, did you know?"

"It's a bullet wound," Sam said, and Loki, who was staggering to his feet, made a triumphant sound. 

"Well," Thor began, turning to glare at his brother, "we have begun a game! It is called, 'try and catch people to throw them into the surf'. It is quite amusing!"

Sam smiled weakly. "Thanks, Thor, but I think I'll go back to shore. Where are the others?"

"Ah, Steven and James have gone to get ice cream, and everyone else is playing the game, but Natasha and Clinton are still there, I believe," Thor said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. 

Sam gave him another forced smile and trudged off back to the beach. 

Natasha and Clint were still with the bags, thankfully, and Sam almost collapsed onto a vacated towel he recognised as Buckys.

"How's the water?" Clint asked conversationally.

"Bit cold," Sam said absently, digging another towel out of the bag to sling around his shoulders. "You thinking of going in?"

"Nah. Hearing aids aren't waterproof," Clint said, tapping the side of his head. 

Sam hummed, and grabbed his book. Natasha threw her feet over his lap and leaned back against Clint, flipping her sunglasses down. 

"Why'd you quit martial arts, Sam?" Clint asked suddenly, after a few minutes. 

"Got bored," Sam replied after a while, not taking his eyes off the sentence he'd been trying to read for almost a minute.

"That's it?" Clint asked curiously. "Because you really liked it, and you've been doing it for ages."

"Knock it off, Barton," Natasha slurred, obviously half-asleep. "The man doesn't wanna talk about it."

Sam suddenly felt bad. He hadn't been around as much as he used to, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin his friendships with Clint and Nat. "You guys know this has nothing to do with you, right? I'm not... angry or anything."

"Everyone needs some alone time, dude," Clint said, smiling sympathetically. "We're here for you, whenever you need us, but you don't have to tell us anything you don't want to."

Sam ducked his head, a sudden lump in his throat. "Thanks."

"Ah, it's nothing," Clint said, waving his hand. Suddenly, he perked up. "Look what the cat dragged in!"

Sam looked up to see Clint grinning at Steve and Bucky, who were both looking a little flushed. Whether it was from sunburn or embarrassment, Sam didn't know.

"Shut it, Barton," Bucky grumbled, but Sam noticed how the flush to his cheeks got darker. "We just got ice cream."

"Is that what they're calling it now these days?" Natasha murmured, not looking up. To Sam's delight, he saw that Steve and Bucky were holding hands.

"Wilson, get off my towel," Bucky said, and Sam stuck his tongue out. 

"I'm alright, thanks, Barnes."

Steve, who had sat down on the towel beside Sam, shrugged. "There's plenty of room here, Buck."

Bucky sighed, but plopped down next to Steve, their sides squished together. Steve caught Sam's eye and mouthed _'thank you'_ , so Sam wiggled his eyebrows. 

It was another few hours before they packed up, and Sam made sure to go ahead to the train station to avoid the goodbyes. He noticed T'Challa walking towards him out of the corner of his eye, but stopped when Nakia grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around. Sam quickly looked away, a strange feeling in his chest. He'd never been that close to Nakia, who preferred to hang out with Shuri, but seeing the casual way she acted around T'Challa made his heart seize up. 

Sam shook his head, quickening his pace. He should be happy - if T'Challa was dating someone, that meant he wasn't interested in Sam anymore, and he was happy with someone who could give him what he needed. Something Sam couldn't do. 

When his friends caught up, Sam refused to let them see the tears in his eyes.

\------

The Christmas holidays were only a few weeks later, and there hadn't been a single warm day since the beach. While Sam was glad for the temporary reprieve from school, he also dreaded it. Because when he wasn't at school, Sam was at home. He envied Bucky's family and their complete ignorance of Christmas. 

His mother roped Sam into hanging up the special Christmas rosaries and supervising Cassie, Eli and Caleb's Christmas cards. After a few years before, when Caleb had accidentally misspelled their uncle Bart's name as Uncle Fart, and their mother had promptly grounded him for two weeks, none of Sam's younger siblings were trusted. The twins were eleven now, which just meant that they thought the world revolved around them but still had no freedom. Cassie, at eight, was still a sweetheart, but Sam was just waiting for her to hit puberty and spiral out of control, much like he did.

While for most of the year they only went to church once a week, Christmas Eve, Christmas morning, and Boxing Day were special days - meaning, the days that Sam hated. Sam praised the God he didn't believe in that Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday, so they only had to go three times that week instead of four. After church, they went to his Grandma Wilson's house for Christmas dinner, and Sam's father made a toast about the sins they overcame in the year, his eyes burning into the side of Sam's head. 

Sam's aunt gave him the phone number of her friend's niece, who was apparently 'a good Christian girl' and 'the perfect match' for him. Sam gave her a weak smile, and when nobody was looking, ripped it up. Grandma Wilson saw the tattered pieces of paper in the bin and gave Sam a sad smile and a kiss to his forehead.

The Saturday after Christmas, at half-past eleven, Sam got a text from Bucky, with just the words, 'dad died'. 

"Shit," Sam swore, sitting upright immediately and pressing the call button, but it immediately went to voicemail. 

_Missed Call to Asshole, 11:33 am. No voicemail left._

_TO: Asshole, 11:35 am: Bucky, call me back._

_TO: Asshole, 11:37 am: You'd better not be ignoring me._

_Missed Call to Asshole, 11:41 am. No voicemail left._

_TO: Asshole, 11:43am: Barnes, answer your damn phone._

Sam groaned and lay back down, tapping his foot. He knew, probably better than most, Bucky's relationship with George Barnes. It was shit - George abused Bucky, Becca, and Winnie, he drank, he got Bucky's arm ripped off, and was generally an awful person. But he was still Bucky's _dad_ \- even if he hated the man, Bucky would be affected by his death.

It wasn't until six that Bucky called him back. Sam had kept his phone right next to him throughout the whole day, and practically pounced on it when it rang.

"I can't believe you wouldn't answer me!" Sam yelled into the receiver, not giving Bucky any time to speak. "You text me literally two words saying 'dad died', and then radio silence for the rest of the day? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry," Bucky rasped. His voice was croaky and slurred; he sounded exhausted. "I just... I haven't been in a talking sort of mood."

Sam felt his anger fade as rapidly as it had arrived, and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his eyes. "I get that, man. Just... try not to make me think you did something stupid, okay?"

"Impossible," Bucky drawled, some sarcasm back in his voice. "Basically everything I do is stupid."

Sam laughed somewhat hysterically and closed his eyes. He'd been shot through with adrenaline when he'd seen Bucky's name on his screen, but it was receding fast, leaving him feeling worn out and numb. "Yeah, I know." There was silence for a few beats. "How are you doing?"

Bucky sighed. "I don't know. I spent all day lying in bed. Then Steve forced me to get up and have a shower."

Sam waggled his eyebrows, even though he knew Bucky couldn't see him. "Was he in the shower too?"

"He's in London," Bucky said, sounding adorably confused. "What do you mean was he..." Bucky trailed off, and Sam hid a snicker behind his hand. His best friend was just too easy to rile up. "Oh." Sam waited just a little bit longer, but Bucky seemed to snap out of it. "Anyway, he's forcing me out of the house tomorrow to go to some address in Queens."

"Is he going to send you to a sex torture dungeon?" Sam asked curiously.

"I doubt it, although I'm still not completely sure I'm not gonna be sold into sex slavery," Bucky replied dryly.

"You'd make a decent prostitute," Sam admitted. 

"I'd make an _amazing_ prostitute," Bucky said, sounding almost proud before his voice turned confused and embarrassed. "And apparently Steve thinks so, too."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"He literally said to me that people would be crazy to not find me sexually attractive." Sam would bet twenty dollars that Bucky was blushing, and crowed with laughter.

"He's so into you!"

"He isn't," Bucky argued weakly. "Steve's just a nice person. He gives compliments all the time."

Yes, because a 'nice person' who wasn't sexually attracted to someone would say something like that. "To literally nobody but you."

"Anyway," Bucky said loudly, sounding flustered, "I'll be getting out of the house."

"I'm actually impressed," Sam mused, looking up at the ceiling. "As long as I've known you, you've never left the house when you were in one of your angsty moods for anyone. Not even me - and I was convinced that I was your favourite person."

"You wish," Bucky snorted. Sam was getting ready for another amazing comeback when he heard the sound of the front door opening, and cursed. He'd completely forgotten that his aunt and uncle were coming over for dinner with their three children, all of whom were under the age of five.

"Crap, I've gotta go. I promised my cousins I'd watch Disney movies with them."

"You're so caring," Bucky cooed, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're a dick." Sam hung up, and let out a breath. Bucky seemed to be fine, or as fine as he could get. Sam wondered if he'd called anyone else, but was brought out of his musings by the sound of feet pounding into his room, and promptly got a face full of curly hair as Annie flung herself at him.

"Sam!" she cried happily, wrapping her spindly little arms around his neck and making him wince. The kid may have only been four years old, but damn was she strong.

"Hey there, little one," he said, poking her side. "Where are the others, hmm?"

"Auntie Darlene told me to come get you," Annie said solemnly, her brown eyes wide and serious. Sam sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

"Alright, little miss. Lead the way."

\------

The start of the second semester, a week into January, was very anticlimactic. Sam, while relieved to be out of that house for more than a few hours at a time, also remembered how annoying school could be. Mainly because of the End of Year Formal posters that had seemed to triple in number. Fuck glitter.

A few weeks after the start of term, Bucky walked into the IT office with a pale face. Sam immediately sat up straight.

"What happened?"

"What makes you think something happened?" Bucky asked tiredly, collapsing into a chair.

"Where's Steve? You two are practically joined at the hip nowadays," Clint said.

"Formal meeting," Bucky replied, chewing on his cheek. "Listen, guys - you aren't doing anything tonight, right?"

"Not that I can think of," Sam replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Steve has a gig at this bar in Red Hook at nine tonight, and I promised him that I'd go. He wants the rest of you guys to come too." Bucky said it in a rush, his hand gripping the fabric of his jeans.

"Steve's a musician?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know that."

"He's a bit camera-shy," Bucky mumbled. 

"Sounds like fun," Sam said, and smiled when Bucky looked up at him. They hadn't been hanging out as often as Sam would like, and he felt a bit guilty about it. Bucky was still his best friend, no matter what was going on in their personal lives. "We could meet up at eight, at your place? Get a cab there?"

The stress in Bucky's posture melted out slightly, and he smiled gratefully back. "Really?"

"Yeah, sounds like fun," Clint said cheerfully. Bucky sighed in relief and slumped in his chair.

"Thank you guys, really. You... Steve didn't look great when I saw him. He needs all the support he can get."

"Of course, man," Sam said gently, holding out the sandwich he'd been saving. "He's our friend, too."

Bucky smiled wearily and took the sandwich.

\-----

The bar was about half full and not as sleazy as it had looked on the outside. The floors and walls were dark, but the lighting wasn't as bad as Sam had feared. The crowd seemed to mostly be college students, and they thankfully didn't stand out too much. Except maybe Natasha, but she stood out everywhere.

They found a booth near the back, and Sam settled in next to Bucky, who was watching the band onstage with interest. 

"That's Okoye," Bucky suddenly exclaimed, his eyes still on the band, and Sam stiffened, turning to look. Sure enough, Okoye was strumming on a bass guitar, with Shuri on a keyboard beside her. If Shuri and Okoye were there...

"I'm gonna go into the back," Bucky said, pulling Sam out of his thoughts. "Sam, wanna come?"

If T'Challa was here, he'd probably be somewhere in the room, and Sam didn't want to be anywhere near him. Sam gratefully shot Bucky a look and stood up.

"Sure."

The 'back' entailed a hallway leading past the toilets and to the dressing rooms, with graffiti art and pictures hung lopsided on the walls. The first dressing room had the name _Dora Milaje_ hanging off a hook on the doorknob, and when Bucky and Sam went to pass it the door promptly swung open, and Sam was face-to-face with T'Challa. 

He looked good. This close, Sam noticed he'd grown a bit, and his shoulders had filled out. He was wearing a plain shirt and dark jeans, with his hands tucked into his pockets. His eyes, which were fixed on Sam's, were wide and shocked and that beautiful brown that Sam loved so much, and his lips were parted slightly, just enough to make Sam remember how soft they were, how nice it felt to kiss him.

"Sam." God, that voice saying his name still gave Sam shudders. That beautiful accent, the deep tone, the memories that Sam had of T'Challa calling to him, moaning his name, laughing happily. It was too much.

"Hey, KitKat," Sam croaked, using T'Challa's old nickname, and the look on his face made Sam's heart break. Not being able to stand it any longer, Sam quickly turned away and took a step back towards the bar, but a strong hand on his arm stopped him.

"Oh no you don't," Bucky said sharply. Sam spun around to glare at his friend, trying desperately to ignore T'Challa's gaze on him.

"Did you know he was going to be back here?" Sam hissed, and Bucky raised his chin, setting his jaw stubbornly. 

"Yes," he snapped. "I can't seem to do anything about your situation, but I can sure as hell make you face the person who can." He shoved Sam into the room and shooed T'Challa back as well. Sam just watched in abject amazement. He was going to _kill_ Barnes. "Stay there and talk about your feelings!" Bucky muttered something in Russian which was probably not very flattering, and slammed the door in their faces.

Sam watched the door for a few seconds, debating whether or not he could make a break for it without being caught by his asshole of a best friend. He could feel T'Challa's stare boring into the side of his head, and jumped slightly when he felt a warm hand brush his wrist.

"Sam..." T'Challa's voice was soft, cracked, full of despair and confusion, and Sam couldn't help the tidal wave of feelings that rose up inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught, swallowed around the lump in his throat, and clenched his fists to stop himself from reaching out and pulling T'Challa as close as he could get.

"Sam, please talk to me," T'Challa whispered, and his hand curled around Sam's wrist pleadingly.

"I don't know what there is to talk about," Sam rasped, ducking his head. He wouldn't look at T'Challa, because if he looked at him he'd fall to pieces. "We dated for a bit, it was fun, we broke up. End of story."

"No, not the end of story," T'Challa said, his turning angry. "We were going so well... we were happy. Then you sent me a text out of the blue and ghosted me for _six months_." His voice cracked, and he let out a choked sob. Sam closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing, but T'Challa was crying next to him and holding his wrist with large, calloused fingers, and all Sam wanted to do was wrap him up in his arms and never let go.

"I never meant to hurt you," Sam murmured, almost to himself. T'Challa scoffed, but it was a miserable sound.

"Look how well that worked out."

Sam took a deep breath in. "I didn't know what else to do."

"What else to do?" T'Challa said, and he sounded furious. "You could have talked to me! You could have sat me down and let me down gently, and told me you didn't love me! You've been pulling me along on a fucking string this whole time, Sam! When does it end?! When will I be able to let you go?"

"I still love you," Sam choked out, almost shamefully. T'Challa stepped closer, and Sam managed to gather himself enough to meet his eyes. T'Challa stood a few inches taller, as he always had, and his hands curled around Sam's face, his eyes anguished and desperate and burning with absolute fury.

"Then why did you leave? Why did you leave me?" he whispered. Sam felt the tears that had been threatening to fall for almost the whole time they'd been talking drip down his cheeks, and instead of answering he leaned up and pressed his mouth to T'Challa's. 

T'Challa's lips tasted just the same as they had six months ago, and his teeth sank into Sam's bottom lip the same way he used to every time they fought, and Sam clung to T'Challa desperately, his hands frantically running over T'Challa's arms, his hips, his ass. T'Challa pushed Sam back, their lips barely breaking away for a second as Sam's back slammed against the wall and T'Challa pinned their bodies together, sucking a mark on Sam's pulse point, making him moan. He gripped T'Challa's hair and pulled him back up for another bruising kiss.

Their kisses were desperate, angry, more like a fight than an embrace, but Sam couldn't stop, couldn't stop even though there was a churning feeling in his gut that told him it was his fault they broke apart, that he didn't deserve T'Challa, that his dad would find out-

The situation fell on Sam like a bucket of ice. His dad. His family. The religion his parents followed blindly. 

He pushed T'Challa off, head spinning. 

Mom. Dad. Cassie. Eli. Caleb.

What would happen to his siblings?

T'Challa looked at him in shock, chest heaving as he reached up to swipe the back of his hand across his mouth. He was beautiful and incredible and Sam loved him and he couldn't stay here -

"I have to go."

T'Challa shook his head frantically. "Don't."

"I have to."

"Bullshit!"

Sam flinched and wiped at his face. Despair and frustration bubbled up inside him - why was it so unfair? Why couldn't he be happy? Why, why, why-

"You don't understand!" Sam cried out.

"Then help me understand!"

"I need to do this!"

"Why?" T'Challa looked desperate. "Why do you need to do this? What's at stake, and why won't you tell me?!"

"Because my dad will kick me out!" Sam finally cried, his voice too loud and his eyes too wet. "Because if I stayed with you I wouldn't be able to go to school, I wouldn't have any money, I'd be living on the streets! My dad would throw me out of the house and leave me to die. And my brothers and sister will never be able to see me again." Sam sniffled, and felt all the fight go out of him, leaving him worn and numb.

T'Challa was quiet, and when Sam looked up, his face was stricken. "Sam-"

"Don't," Sam cut in, and turned away. "Just don't." His voice cracked, and Sam kept his head low as he walked to the door, paused, and closed it softly behind him.

\-------

Sam woke up the next day with a pounding headache and his stomach churning and had barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. His mother hovered, concerned, wiping his forehead with a wet cloth and urging him to eat some crackers.

"You must be coming down with something," she murmured, pressing the back of her hand to Sam's cheek, and he didn't bother telling her it was a hangover. It'd just get him grounded.

Despite his mother's protests, Sam left for school, getting to his first class with minutes to spare. He barely paid attention, still hungover and overly emotional from the night before. It had left him drained and depressed, and all he wanted was to curl up with Bucky and a pint of cookie ice cream and watch Seinfeld. Between his first and second classes, Sam dug his phone out of his pocket.

_One new message from Clit  
Yesterday, 8:48 pm: dude where r u steves onstage_

_One new message from Mother Russia  
Yesterday, 9:30 pm: Hey you're missing the show, get back here Steve's amazing_

_One new message from Asshole  
Today, 8:14 am: Sick. Staying home._

_One new message from God Bless America  
Today, 9:07 am: Hey Sam! Thanks for coming last night, it really meant a lot. I haven't seen Bucky today, do you know where he is? I'll be leaving at recess to go to Massachusetts, so I'll see you on Monday :)_

_Three new messages from Lawful Good  
Yesterday, 9:51 pm: T'Challa told me what happened. You okay?  
Today, 7:45 am: You coming to school today?  
Today, 9:30: T'Challa's looking for you. If you don't want to talk to him, I'd suggest hiding somewhere._

Sam sighed and rubbed his hand over his face wearily. T'Challa didn't know when to leave something alone. It was both infuriating and endearing, and Sam hated it.

_TO: God Bless America, 9:45 am: Bucky's sick today. Hope you enjoy Massachusetts (also, sorry I missed the show)._

_TO: Lawful Good, 9:45 am: Thanks._

At recess, Sam made his way to the IT office as quickly as possible. Tony, from his spot in the corner, gave Sam a wonky salute without looking up from his computer. Natasha and Clint sat opposite each other, Natasha's feet in Clint's lap.

"Hey," Natasha said in greeting. "Where are Steve and Bucky?"

"Fucking in a broom closet," Tony supplied helpfully.

"Bucky's sick," Sam said, ignoring Tony. "And Steve's going to Massachusetts today, remember?"

"Does Bucky have cholera?" Clint asked, eyes wide.

"No, he does not have cholera," Sam said wearily. "It's probably just a cold."

Clint scowled, and pulled out his phone, tapping furiously at the screen. 

"Please don't tell me you're telling people that Bucky has cholera," Natasha sighed, and Clint grinned.

"I'm not telling people that Bucky has cholera," he said back to her, completely unconvincingly. Sam sighed, and pulled out his own phone.

_TO: Asshole, 10:33 am: Call me. Clint told everyone you have cholera._

When Sam checked his phone again after school, there was a single text back.

_One new message from Asshole  
Today, 1:03pm: Of course he did._

\-------

On Saturday at midday, Sam got a text from Bucky, saying _Come over. Now_. Giving his mother a kiss on the forehead, Sam quickly left the apartment and set down the street to Bucky's complex. He and Bucky didn't live too far away from each other, thank God, so he was able to get there in twenty minutes.

The apartment was quiet. It had been like that ever since Becca had left for college in January. Winnifred was obviously out, because her handbag wasn't on the kitchen table and her shoes weren't next to the door. Sam set the spare key on its hook and toed off his shoes, making his way to Bucky's room. 

"Bucky?" he called, knocking on the door. "It's me."

"Come in," a muffled voice replied, and Sam opened the door quietly. Bucky was curled up at the head of his bed, his face buried in a pillow. Sam sighed softly and sat down beside him, his hand immediately going to Bucky's hair. Bucky, as predicted, leaned into the touch like a cat.

"What's going on?" Sam asked gently. Bucky rolled over, pillowing his head on Sam's thigh, and groaned.

"Sam, I don't know what happened," he rasped out. "I was fine one minute - Steve was dancing with this girl, and they were both really good, and I just kept watching them and I realised after forty minutes that I hadn't taken my eyes off him. I can't stop thinking about him, which is pretty normal, but now I _know_ that I'm always thinking about him, and I'm wondering how I managed to go so long without realising that I think about him all the time. Sam, I-I think I like him. Like, a lot. Far too much."

Bucky cut off his babbling with a deep breath and buried his face back in Sam's leg. Sam didn't stop stroking his hair, silently marvelling at his best friend's obliviousness. It had been six months of pining from both Steve and Bucky, and Bucky was only realising just now?

"You're in love with him." Bucky shot upright to look at Sam with wide eyes.

"No!" Bucky squeaked. "No, no, definitely not. This is just a stupid crush, and it's gonna go away soon, and-"

"You can't fool me, Barnes," Sam cut in, raising an eyebrow. "I know everything about you. You're my best friend."

Bucky shifted, then laid his head back down on Sam's thigh. "Then why are you keeping secrets from me?"

The subject change wasn't subtle in the slightest, and Sam honestly should have seen it coming, but it made him tense up all the same. Bucky craned his head up to catch Sam's eyes, his expression open and trustworthy.

Hey. It's okay," Bucky soothed. "I get that you're going through a tough time at the moment."

Sam looked down at his best friend, feeling his face twist with guilt and indecision. He wanted to tell Bucky, of course he did - Bucky was his best friend, Bucky had been with him for years, Bucky knew him better than anyone else. "You only want to help. It isn't fair if I keep this from you."

"You can tell me if you want," Bucky said gently. "I want to help, but I don't want to force you into anything."

Sam took a deep breath, and ducked his head. He didn't want to see Bucky's face. He couldn't. "Okay." As he started to talk, the story started flowing out of him like water. He couldn't stop talking, and he found that he didn't want to stop. He was going to tell Bucky everything. When he finally finished, Sam lowered his gaze to his lap, feeling tears sting his eyes, and Bucky sat up to let Sam curl into his side, rubbing circles on his shoulder and pressing kisses to his forehead.

"I still love him, Bucky," Sam whispered into his friend's shoulder. Bucky rested his head atop Sam's, his thumb still rubbing soothing circles on Sam's shoulder.

"I know, Sammy," Bucky said gently, and held him tighter. "I know."

\---------

Sam managed to avoid T'Challa until Tuesday. Which, in all seriousness, was pretty pathetic.

Sam was standing at the back of the school, next to the bike racks after his last class of the day, waiting for Bucky. Because Bucky was lazy and rude, and Sam had been let out early, he wasn't surprised to see that Bucky wasn't waiting for him. He was surprised to see T'Challa standing in his place.

"Please don't leave," T'Challa said quickly, holding his hands up and pushing off the wall he'd been leaning against. "I just wanna talk."

"That's kinda what I'm worried about," Sam replied, stopping a few feet away. T'Challa shifted on his feet, clearly waiting for Sam to start talking, but Sam just crossed his arms over his chest. Finally, T'Challa sighed, and the sound was resigned and sad.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly. "We could have worked things out. We could have stayed together, in secret."

"No, we couldn't have," Sam said wearily and rubbed his eyes. He was not in the right headspace for this conversation. "T'Challa, this isn't about you. This is bigger than both of us. I couldn't just..." Sam cut himself off, and clenched his jaw. "Listen. I love you. But I love my family, too."

T'Challa sighed quietly, and closed the distance between them to wrap Sam up in a hug. Sam melted against him, burying his face in T'Challa's shoulder and letting him hold him up. 

"I wouldn't ask you to choose between your family and me," T'Challa said softly, stroking Sam's hair gently. "But you turned eighteen last September. And you've told me about your plans to get a dorm room with Bucky. If you don't want to risk it now, I can wait. I'll wait as long as you want me to."

Sam looked up. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You don't have to ask," T'Challa countered, setting his jaw. "As long as I love you, I'll wait for you. You aren't staying away because you want to, Sam. You have as little control here as I do, so if you don't want to risk it-"

"Stop," Sam interrupted, leaning back just enough to look T'Challa in the eye. "I was scared when I broke up with you. I didn't want to hurt you more than I needed to, but I needed you to not want me back. I guess I forgot how stubborn you could be." Sam let out a wet laugh, looking away for a moment. "But it didn't help. My father already knew what I was, and he's treated me like a stranger ever since. I've been... I've been _miserable_ without you. And even if my dad finds out, I'll be moving out in a few months anyway."

"What are you saying?" T'Challa asked quietly. Sam squared his jaw and looked back up, slowly backing T'Challa into the wall behind them.

"I love you," he said honestly, cupping T'Challa's jaw in his hand. "And my father's a dick. And I don't want some old homophobe to dictate what I do with my life."

T'Challa's eyes widened, and a smile spread onto his face as he wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders. "You mean it."

Sam laughed giddily. "Yeah, KitKat, I mean it."

T'Challa let out an almost hysterical laugh and pulled Sam forward, leaning down to press their lips together. Sam whimpered and leaned all his weight into T'Challa's body, his free hand curling around T'Challa's hip. He hadn't been kissed like this in _six months_ , hadn't properly held T'Challa since August, hadn't felt such joy bubbling inside him for too long. 

"I love you, so much," Sam mumbled, pulling away just enough to rest their foreheads together. T'Challa closed his eyes, a smile still tugging at his lips.

"I love you too." 

Sam sighed happily and leaned his head on T'Challa's shoulder. T'Challa's lips brushed the top of his head, his hands rubbing gentle circles into Sam's back.

"Come home with me?" T'Challa murmured. "We still have much to discuss."

Sam laughed softly and pulled back to grin at him. T'Challa looked so beautiful standing there, his neatly-pressed shirt rumpled, his lips swollen, and eyes sparkling with happiness and love. Sam didn't know how he managed to stay away. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, more about this series!  
> I AM working on a sequel (a proper sequel, with multiple chapters and everything), but I don't know if I want to post the chapters when I'm finished with them, or wait until I'm all done before dumping it all in one huge post. What do you guys think? Please tell me, and also give me some ideas about what I should put in it! I already have a plotline and stuff, but if you guys want any particular characters or tropes, just tell me!


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